


Even The Best

by ConsultingCaffrey



Category: White Collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-07 01:23:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15898050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingCaffrey/pseuds/ConsultingCaffrey
Summary: There are so many appendicitis fics out there, I decided to do something a little bit different.Neal is sick and Peter ends up taking his son- er friend to the hospital





	Even The Best

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my gosh I'm not dead! This was sitting in my notes forever and it was basically done so to get back into the swing of things, I fixed it up and here we are.
> 
> Not gonna have much time to write at all for the foreseeable future, but I can do a little at a time.

Aldrich Stanson. He was the man who had most recently gotten himself on Peter and Neal's radar, and not in the good way.

There was also the fact that he had really gotten under Neal's skin. The guy was slick, rich, and didn't give a damn about the innocent people he'd scammed out of their hard earned money. At least that's how Neal had put it.

Peter knew it was more than that. Stanson had said some things, mostly implied, but it just made everything personal for Caffrey.

His hat had been brought up. That was when Peter knew they were taking Stanson down.

Except they had nothing, and Stanson knew it. All they could do was read and reread the same files over and over, trying to find an angle.

It was a late night at the office. Neal was still there, sitting in the conference room with Peter, but everyone else had gone home. It was too quiet.

"Okay," Peter said finally, closing the file in front of him. "Let's call it a night. We can sleep on this and come back with a fresh start in the morning." He stood, gathering up their evidence to put away for now.

Neal sighed, handing over what he'd been looking at. "I was just about to say the same thing. Can I catch a ride?"

Peter nodded. "Sure."

As Neal stood up to leave, Peter couldn't help but notice the pained look that flashed briefly across his normally calm and confident expression. He frowned, asking, "You okay?"

Neal quickly nodded, reassuring smile and all. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just got up too fast. I guess sitting at a desk for hours will do that."

Peter didn't even think to question it. He was feeling a little sore too, and he stretched his legs a bit with a sigh. "We'll get back at it tomorrow. Hopefully with better results."

The drive home was quiet, but not awkwardly so. They were both lost in thought about the case, at least Peter was. Neal wasn't usually the silent type, but it was late. He was probably tired.

Once he pulled up in front of June's, he wished Neal a good night, and got the same in return, then headed home to Elizabeth, who had waited up for him, of course. She always did on late nights.

Tomorrow, Peter told himself again. They'd wrap this thing up.

-)()(-

The conference room had been the first time Neal realized something might be wrong. The pain had been sharp and quick, much like a small shock to the gut. 

He'd played it off easily, not wanting Peter to worry when he already had so much on his mind. Besides, it was probably nothing. These things usually were. After quite a few "oh it's just a sprain" or "no, you aren't that sick" lectures from Ellen growing up and even some from Mozzie, he had learned to keep these things to himself. Apparently he just had a low pain tolerance and was too quick to self-diagnose.

He already felt better anyway and the incident was quickly forgotten as he changed into his silk pajamas and fell asleep.

He didn't get to sleep as long as he'd like, though, because pain woke him up, this time worse and lingering. He grimaced and held a hand against his abdomen, hoping it would go away. It did, eventually, but now he just felt nauseous and couldn't go back to sleep.

He sighed shallowly, glanced at the time. 5:35 AM. He may as well get up.

By the time the sun came up and it was almost time to head in to the bureau, the pain had left him again, but he moved cautiously, as if it would come back at any moment. He also felt a little hot, but brushed that off, assuming it was the Manhattan summer heat raising its ugly head.

However, by the time he made it to the office, he was seriously considering asking Peter if he could take the day off. He really wasn't feeling well.

Before he could ask, though, Peter already seemed to notice that something was off, and he gave Neal one of his scrutinizing looks that could also be mistaken for a glare if you didn't know the man. "You okay there, Neal? You look a bit..."

"I know," Neal sighed. "I haven't been feeling the best." Honesty wasn't usually his go-to option, but he was too tired to try any other route today. Especially not with so much evidence pointing to him being under the weather. He tried to appear as chipper as possible, though, not needing any pity or worry. Peter had enough on his plate with this case. Right, the case... He really should stay and help with that. "I can stay," he added. "I think I might have a lead we can follow. Not a huge one, but who knows what it'll turn up, right?"

Peter didn't look convinced, but he was desperate for leads and Neal knew it. "Alright, but if you're not feeling any better by lunch, you let me know and I'll take you home, okay? Promise me."

Neal nodded with one of his patented Caffrey grins. "Of course."

-)()(-

Neal's lead actually turned up quite a bit, and so everybody found themselves gathered in the conference room, going over everything they knew. 

Neal tried to pay attention, he really did. As a master of the con, he knew firsthand that it wasn't difficult to convince the world that everything was fine even if reality begged to differ. He'd once pulled a heist with a fractured wrist and neither Mozzie nor Kate caught on until they were making their escape and he bumped it on the very painting they'd lifted.

Kate had been furious with him for hiding it, Mozzie was just impressed.

Not the point. The point was that if he could do that, then he could con a room full of FBI agents out of knowing how he felt like his stomach was trying to tear itself apart.

He wasn't succeeding very well at that one since Peter already knew and that meant his gaze was almost always settled on him. He could feel it like a tangible eight foot pole that kept poking at him and poking at him until he just folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them, eyes closed as he listened. Or tried to.

God, he felt miserable. He should have gone home. There was nothing he wanted more than to sink into his bed and stay there for at least twenty-four hours.

"Neal!"

How long had Peter been calling his name?

His head shot up, and he prepared to slip on his toughest mask, the one that had "I'm fine!" printed all over in it twelve-point Times New Roman font.

Somewhere along the way, his head lost connection to the sense of gravity and his vision swam as he clung to the table, feeling as though he might float away. That wasn't a good feeling, and neither was the nausea that intensified with the movement.

He winced, squeezing his eyes shut and unable to help it. Crap.

Peter said his name again, concern dripping from his voice in gratuitous amounts.

Neal wasn't listening. His eyes shot open again and he scrambled to his feet, his mind zeroing in on one thing and one thing only. Which was the trash can in Peter's office, the closest thing to the conference room that he was so conveniently sitting mere feet away from.

He ducked quickly through the doorway into the smaller room, his knees hitting the floor beside Peter's desk, and somewhere in his muddled thoughts, he was terribly embarrassed. But at the moment, he didn't care.

As he heaved up whatever was in his stomach, not much, he was aware of Peter walking through the door, shutting it behind him. 

The strain on his gut didn't help at all, and when he finally sat back, the pain was worse than ever, and he could feel sweat covering every inch of his body. He was shaking and his limbs felt like they were made of jelly.

Peter's hand on his forehead felt like somebody had slapped a handful of snow on his skin. He looked up at the man, offering the best smile he could, given the circumstances. "I think maybe I should go home," he said.

"Yeah, definitely," Peter said, a set frown on his face. "Is June there? Mozzie?" He didn't sound like he would be particularly comforted if Mozzie was there.

"June's home," Neal replied. "I'll be fine. Probably just food poisoning or something. Mozzie brought home some questionable takeout last night."

"Just take it easy," Peter said, offering him a hand, which Neal took gratefully. However, as Peter pulled him to his feet, sharp pain lanced through his stomach, making him gasp and huddle in on himself.

"Whoa, hey," Peter was saying. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

Neal found himself back on the floor, clutching his middle and feeling rather pathetic. "Hurts," he bit out, hating this. 

"Boss?" Diana's voice had both men glancing up to her worried gaze. "Everything okay?"

"No," Peter answered. "Can you take over while I'm gone? I'm taking Neal to the hospital."

As he said the dreaded word, Neal glanced at him quickly, and he knew Peter could see the pleading look in his eyes, the silent 'please don't make me go there'.

Diana just nodded, both of them ignoring his silent argument. "Sure thing. Drive safe, okay?"

After she was gone again, Neal groaned, "Peter..."

"You're in no position to argue," Peter said firmly. "Do I need to call an ambulance instead?"

"No," Neal said quickly. "You drive."

-)()(-

Apparently even that was too much to ask. 

Even before the car started moving, Neal felt that awful nauseous feeling come back, his whole body trembling with cold sweats. And when Peter put the thing in drive... Oh, it was tempting to pass out.

He gripped the door tightly with one hand while the other had the same idea, but with his left knee. Eyes closed tightly, he listened to the sounds of traffic and silently begged to just go to sleep and not have to deal with the pain. He felt like somebody was digging around in his stomach looking for something, and as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he was going to be sick again.

But he was nothing if not determined, so he gritted his teeth, took deep breaths, and sat there in misery.

Peter, for his part, didn't say anything other than once asking him how he was doing. Neal had just grunted in answer, and was gladly left alone after that, although he thought he might have noticed an increase in Peter's usual reckless driving. Fantastic.

It seemed to take only a minute to reach the hospital and Peter got out of the car. By the time Neal pried his eyes open and even thought about moving, the door on his side opened and Peter gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Come on, out you get. I'll help you."

Neal shook his head, wincing. "No, no," he begged. Hey, look at that. Neal Caffrey begging. Don't get used to it, Peter, he thought. "I just... I need a minute."

"No," Peter said firmly. "Now."

He was probably right. The longer he stayed in the car, the less he wanted to leave it. With a resigned groan, he let Peter man-handle him out onto the sidewalk, then almost doubled over. It felt like if he stood up straight, he'd tear something.

"Can I die now?" he asked breathlessly.

"At least wait until we're inside," Peter answered.

Lucky for them, this place was quick, and given the emergency situation, Neal was taken back to a room within a minute. Peter flashed his badge, of course, and came along. Neal was grateful for that. He didn't want to be alone in a room full of people he didn't know. People who probably knew about a thousand different ways to kill him.

Wow, Mozzie's paranoia must be contagious.

They asked a lot of questions, like what he'd been eating recently, if he'd gone anywhere out of the ordinary, if his right side hurt. It did, so they seemed to at least have some idea of what was wrong.

They did various tests, asked more questions, then finally left him alone for a bit with Peter. Annoyingly enough, he still felt like he was being examined. "Stop staring at me," he mumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed that was more like a table. He kept his eyes closed, but the pain was actually getting better now.

"I'm not staring," Peter retorted, but the feeling of being watched went away, so there was that.

When the doctor finally came back in, he gave Neal a small smile. "Well, Mr Caffrey, we suspected you were suffering from appendictis, but that's not the case. Actually, we believe it's cholecystitis, or inflammation of the gallbladder."

That caught him a little off guard. Everyone was familiar with the concept of having their appendix taken out. It happened to a lot of people. But he had no idea what this... cholecystitis meant for him.

Apparently he was giving the man a very concerned look, and the doctor was quick to reassure him. "We can treat the symptoms, but I highly recommend you get it removed, as this can be a recurring problem once it starts. You can go back to your normal routine afterwards, so this won't have an impact on your everyday life. But it's entirely up to you."

Neal glanced at Peter, who just held his hands up. "Hey, what are you looking at me for? I'm not your decision maker."

Neal just gave him a sour look. "I didn't ask. I was just thinking."

Peter rolled his eyes. "The Bureau's not gonna renig your deal just because you need surgery."

The doctor piped up again helpfully. "You'll be able to go home on the same day, and recovery is short."

Peter gestured to him, looking at Neal. "There, see?"

Neal sighed. "Fine." 

He needed to keep this from Mozzie as long as possible. Already, he could hear the conspiracy about the government implanting him with some new and terrible device that could control his brain or something...

-)()(-

It went better than expected. Just as the doctor said, he got to go home after just a few hours, and with only instructions to take it easy for a couple days.

"So?" Peter started as they both got in the car. He had the 'Neal, you're in trouble' look on his face. Or it could also be the 'Neal, I'm disappointed' look. They were easily mistaken.

Neal glanced over at him in puzzlement. "What?"

"What have we learned?" Peter asked as though speaking to a four-year-old. Neal resented that.

"We?" he mumbled, not amused.

"By 'we' I mean you," Peter said, putting the car in drive and heading toward June's. "How long did you know you were sick before you decided to say anything? Why did you come to work feeling so bad? You know all you have to do is call or text me and I'll give you a day off."

Neal sighed, slumping in his seat even more than he already had been. "I know that."

"So?"

"So what? I don't have an excuse."

Luckily, Peter didn't press, just said, "Next time, you let me know, capiche?"

Neal couldn't help but smile a bit. "Yeah. Capiche."

They drove in comfortable silence the rest of the way.


End file.
